Myths and Realities
by Jubalii
Summary: Everyone knows the common vampire myths, but the realities aren't quite what the human population wants to hear. Especially when it involves the Devil Incarnate and his little Antichrist.
1. Seras on- Mirrors

**Author's Note: Where the hell did this come from? Out from under my scarf, I guess! This little ditty is something I created when the tone I wanted didn't fit LA, so I stuck it in its own story. **

* * *

Myth #1: Vampires have no reflection.

* * *

What a fucking lie. The moment I was created, I checked myself in the mirror to see that cute little fang that designated me as the undead. I check my reflection every day to make sure that the Frenchman has nothing to tease me about; no bogeys or leftover drool, not a single hair out of place, no bloodstains on my teeth from breakfast...the list goes on and on until I'm satisfied with my appearance and go to greet the night.

Master has no mirror in his room, nor does he need one…or so he claims. But I see things that I don't let onto. I see when he watches me get ready for a mission. I see when he stands behind me as I prepare for bed. His vision remains on me (why, I don't know) but I see the quick glances he gives himself, too. The flickering of interest as he takes in his unchanging appearance; the flick of tongue across teeth as he checks for remains of his own meals: I know some tiny part of him still cares about appearances.

Once he teased me for my love of men with facial hair. _I had facial hair, once_. He told me, his face in that usual smirk. I gave him a long look before I spoke truthfully:

"I think that you should grow it back. You probably look quite rugged and fierce with a beard." I turned, but still caught sight of his quick look in the mirror, hand flitting up to his chin to rub it briefly.

Oh yes, he cares.

* * *

I see myself reflected a million ways every night. My frightened visage in Father Anderson's glasses as he gets too close for comfort, The happy look I give Walter every time he says one of his kind, elderly quotes that always make me feel better, my professional smile as I take my orders from Sir Integra; yes, I'm a thousand people at once.

But I often wonder how people view me. If I was Master, I'd just read their minds, but I haven't gotten that far yet. Does Integra see me as just another employee? Does Walter think of me as a cute, neglected pet of Masters? I know about Anderson-he just sees another damned, lost soul to send to Hell, but here's the thing: I like my soul right where it is-in my body! My soldiers see me as something that lurks under their children's beds at night: a monster from old movies where Lugosi lurks in the shadows and Mel Brooks wrings a laugh by putting Dracula in a wig.

But only am I really myself-Seras Victoria-when I look in the mirror in my room. Master gets the privilege of seeing the real me. I wonder if he considers that. Most likely, since he's pretty perceptive about such things.

* * *

Last night, I caught a glimpse of the future. Master and I sat at my little table, where I'd "invited him over for dinner", which meant he'd just phased up to my room with his blood, joking about how he'd brought the wine so that I wouldn't have to buy any. I had my soup bowl and him his wineglass, and we allowed ourselves to relax. He sat on one end, I on the other, and we spoke not of FREAKS or Integra or stupid ol' Pip, but instead of books and music and why he had such an enormous hat. I laughed and he even offered me a _real _smile; one I'd only seen one before on the night I died. Turning slightly to mock-ignore a teasing comment, I saw us briefly in my mirror and had a sudden moment of clarity. Turning back, I placed my spoon in the empty bowl and addressed him.

"Master, you and I will be together forever, right?" He'd chuckled at that before taking a sip.

"You don't know the _meaning _of that word, Police Girl. By the time forever came, you'd be sick of me," he said with certainty. I smiled and didn't reply, instead sneaking another glance at the mirror. He was wrong, I decided.

I'd never tire of this.


	2. Seras on- Coffins

Myth #2- Vampires can only sleep in coffins.

* * *

Pure and utter nonsense. Master often sleeps in his chair. I fell asleep on watch once and rolled off a parapet, almost breaking my back. One time, we both had to curl up together in a subway tunnel during a particularly touchy mission. Talk about uncomfortable!

Don't get me wrong-my bed _is _a coffin, but the lid can be raised during the night so I can lie on the sheets without bumping my nose every time I move. And it's enormous, too-I'm sure I could easily fit five more people inside with the lid closed and still have room to move around. The mattress is soft and squishy, and through it I can feel the energizing soil that rests beneath it. It's the perfect mixture of luxury and simplicity that I love in my belongings, although I can't imagine _how_ Walter could have known that fact. Lucky coincidence, I guess.

I know the reason behind this myth stems from the fact that humans used to watch vampires crawling out of their coffins at night to go "terrorize" the world (in reality the poor blokes were probably getting some fresh air and exercise before a meal).

It's not the _coffin_ itself that allows us to sleep-it's the cramped space. Even for a claustrophobe like myself, it's pure instinct on a mission to first scope out a tiny, dark space to curl up in for the sunlit hours if need be.

* * *

That's how I ended up on Master's lap for twelve hours-we both fought over that stupid crevice in the subway tunnel that was the _perfect_ spot to sleep in.

He won of course, but I still crammed myself in there with him, making sure to knee him in the groin out of spite as I scaled his body. It was a very awkward position; he was sitting with one knee tucked under him, and I had used the other as a resting point for my back as I twisted like a contortionist, my feet flat against the ceiling and his shoulder blade pressing into my chin. By that time the sun was making us irritable and we snapped and shoved at each other, grumbling and hissing before we finally settled.

Waking the next evening, I found that we had both somehow turned with our backs to the exit, most likely to shield our eyes from the trains' lights as they passed by. My feet had slipped and now I sat curled up sideways, my head resting against one wall and my heels against the other, my knees touching my forehead. Master had one of his arms across his lap and the other cushioning his head as he slumped against the wall. Twisting my head sideways, I imagined him taking that same position in his own bed and decided that it was entirely plausible.

If my life had been a romance novel, I would have woken wrapped in his arms, with perhaps his coat covering us like a blanket. He would have woken when I shifted against him, his eyes blinking in confusion before he remembered where we were. I would have flushed with embarrassment at the way he subconsciously held me closer for the briefest moment before letting go and stretching, his yawn echoing in the tunnel. _Ah, c'est romantique. _

As it was, I stared at him for all of 30 seconds before a train came by out of nowhere, lights pulsating and making the already cracked sheetrock rain down on us. I screamed loudly, scrambling to get out of the wall as the thought of being buried alive made me panic. If my shrieks didn't wake him up, my hand pushing his face _through _the wall did as my strength overpowered me in my fear. He was pissed at me, but that was nothing to his anger when we both realized that our target had managed to elude us during the day and was nowhere to be found.

I suppose we made a strange couple walking down Oxford Street, covered in sheetrock dust with one of us ranting in a mixture of Romanian and English while the other massaged her poor back.

* * *

But even then, vampires don't _have _to have a cramped space to hide in. I've noticed that if I feel safe somewhere, I'm much better about sleeping anywhere I so choose. This mostly occurs at Hellsing manor, where I have the comfort of being protected by soldiers and a battle-ready building. There, I feel absolutely comfortable.

One April, when Pip and his men let things go a little too far with the pranks, Walter found me curled up beneath his desk, as it was the only safe place left in the entire manor. I phased by accident into Sir Integra's _locked_ clothes cupboard, and her surprised screech woke me up where I had fallen asleep after exhausting myself by trying to phase out again, not wanting to ruin her cupboard by just busting my way out. I suppose I've slept everywhere, save Master's coffin.

A vampire's bed is the most sacred space to us. It's where our soil is. Humans can't understand the security that comes with having a place to sleep every night. I cringe when I hear the stories of vampires being staked to death in their coffins-it's just like fornicating in a church, or some other blasphemous act that just grates at your morality.

You don't touch it, either. I'd never dare of touching Master's coffin without his explicit permission to do so. I'm watchful of who comes into my room, not allowing any soldiers or servants near corner where my coffin's situated. I'm extremely watchful of Walter, too. I always take my own sheets off the bed and give them to him, and put the new sheets on when they are returned to me after being washed. It's not like I think they can hurt my bed in any way, but the primal instinct to protect what's mine is still deep within me. That's why I insisted the chairs and table stayed when I first arrived at Hellsing. Visitors can sit in the chair, not on my sheets.

* * *

One night, I was woken by a something on my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I looked over to see _six_ red eyes looking back at me. Raising myself up on one elbow, I rubbed the hellhound's ears and looked at him, trying to remember why my bed was open and raised instead of being down in the dark ground.

"What is it?" I asked drowsily, mindful of the dog. To my relief, he didn't lay a single paw near the bed, only touching my shoulder as he gave me a tiny whine. I realized that the dog was, strangely enough, asking for comfort. "Hey boy, it's okay," I said, my words sounding foolish to my ears. I rubbed the dog gently, patting him with my palm before pushing him carefully off my shoulder and onto the floor. I heard his tail thumping on the ground before he stood and turned three times, falling with a huff on the floor with his head between his paws.

Being the animal lover that I am, I lay back against my pillow but couldn't help thinking about the poor dog, lying on the cold, hard floor while I relaxed in a warm, cozy coffin-bed. I groaned, turning over and trying to forget about him, but I still heard his stupid tail hitting the ground as he wagged it. Finally I couldn't stand it anymore and sighed, hitting my thigh with my hand and giving a low whistle. It took a mere second before he jumped on the bed, crawling up to lay on my outstretched arm with his head resting beside mine on the pillow.

To my surprise, I didn't feel the revulsion I thought I would, just a mild annoyance that I'd let a _dog_ get the best of me. Mentally shrugging I buried my head in the dog's fur, letting the scent of fur and animal lull me back into slumber.

To my chagrin, it was an embarrassing morning when I woke up with my arms around not a dog, but my master as he lay against my pillows, dead to the world. Scratch that, it was an embarrassing week, seeing as my gasp woke him up and he realized where he was the exact moment Integra burst in with Walter in hot pursuit, about to ask me where my "exasperating excuse for a creator" was.

"Ah, _c'est romantique_", said Sir Integra sarcastically.

"Puppy love," said Walter jokingly.

"_**Get out, all of you**_!" said the mortified Draculina, her covers pulled up to her chin and her master roaring with laughter beside her in bed.


End file.
